A Messed Up World
by darandomninja
Summary: Wonderland. What's so wonderful about it? Seems like these people will find out on their own. Based on Vocaloid song "Hitobarashi no Alice". A bit of gore? Bad, scary images? Some cursing. You have been warned. Fourth Alice Prologue update
1. Prologue

~Prologue~

A small nation stood alone, his only companion was a pen and a journal. He stood in the corner, his only source of light was a small flame, As the flickering light dimmed, his fear grew.

"I don't want to be forgotten," he earnestly wished, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. He stayed in that corner, curled up in a ball, watching the flame to extinguish completely...

"You don't have to be alone..," a silent, eerie voice whispered. "You don't have to be forgotten by everyone. Just create a world where people can enter. Where your presence will be felt, engraved in their minds..."

A clown-wide grin began to plaster itself on the nation's face. He began to write, suddenly engrossed by this new idea. His mind started to fill up with unrealistic, evil thoughts. He didn't stop writing until the candle's flame vanished, never to be lit up again.

* * *

**Author notes:**

I've had most of this story written last year. A long~ time ago. But I told myself that I wouldn't put it out on fanfiction until I finish writing it. But today, as I was looking around my fanfic folder, I saw this and felt sad. I never got to writing it, and I probably won't. At least for a long time. Maybe one day, I'll have enough time to put my best out on writing. But until then, I decided to keep it here. At least if my computer crashes, not all will be lost.

Forgive me if it is not the best. I'm not sure if the one I'm uploading is the corrected version. Either way, here you go and I hope you like it! Consider it a late Christmas present and a New Year Present all in a bundle! :3

Happy New Year everyone! Hope more awesome memories will happen in 2011! :D


	2. First AliceGilbert's stained hands

~First Alice~

It was a bright night, filled with the warmth and light from the burning village below. An army watched safely from a nearby hill before they joyously marched away, victorious in their battle.

"Okay men! We'll camp out here. Tonight, we celebrate and feast!" the leader announced as they reached a field, surrounding by the forest they carefully mapped months before. With cheerful yells from the group, he strayed away, periodically touching his sword affectionately.

The leader was the almighty leader, Gilbert Beilschmidt, the commander of the Prussian Army. He lived for fights and was rumored to be the best.

His ego flared up every time someone acknowledged him as the best. It gave him a reputation, one that he was proud of. But secretly, deep inside, he knew he wasn't as strong as they say, and continually practiced to be the best of the best.

Satisfied with the distance he had put between himself and the loud camp, he sat against the thick, strong trunk of a nearby tree, enjoying the cool, crisp breeze, reminiscing on his glorious victory as his eyes drooped, until he finally fell asleep.

~Gilbert's Dream~

He strayed into the forest, carelessly making random turns without marking his trail or consulting his map. He wandered deeper into the dark unknown, no thought of where he was going.

He heard something hiding in the nearby brush. He expertly pulled out the sword from his sheath and held it protectively in front of him. He tensed, quickly positioning himself in the correct stance. He held his position, waiting for the right time to strike.

He was about to stab the hidden thing when a snow-white bunny hopped out, unaware of the danger it was in. He sheathed his sword, a sigh of relief escaping his lips. He still remained tense, cautions. For he was in the middle of a war, and someone could always be hiding behind the trees or camouflaged in the dark, waiting to ambush him.

_Not that anyone could harm, less touch the awesome me," _he thought, his confidence as big as ever.

There was something dark attached to the back of the bunny, making the contrast in colors blatantly obvious.

He cautiously crept up the the animal, careful not to scare it away. To his amazement, the bunny hopped forward, staying still as he grasped the object, before it hopped away, as if it was its job to deliver that object to Gilbert.

The object crinkled in his hand, the sudden noise surprising him. It was a crimson-colored envelope, decorated with foreign gold symbols. Hesitantly, he opened it, expecting a well decorated letter or document. He was bewildered when he found the envelope only held a lone card, one that would seem to belong to a deck of cards. He gingerly took the card, suddenly overcoming by a blinding light, rendering him unconscious. He tell to the ground with a 'thud', the bloody-red spade on the card gone.

When he came to, he was surrounded by black shadow creatures. Adrenaline kicked in and he unsheathed his weapon, immediately attacking the nearest dark creature. The rest took that move as a consent to attack and swarmed him. Gilbert slashed the creatures repeatedly, slowly dwindling his opponent's numbers, until all were slayed, laying still on the ground.

He panted, his hands still gripping tightly on the hilt of his sword. His clothes were covered in the creatures blood, already beginning to stain his attire. His eyes glanced over at the fallen, their bodies now surrounded by their own blood.

His eyes darted back and forth, still expecting more to appear. No, he didn't just expect them to come. He _wanted _someone or something to appear before him, to give him a chance to slash him to pieces. He was filled with this desire to kill anything and everything in his path.

A tiny chuckle escaped his lips, loud laughter abruptly following after, reverberating throughout the forest. "Come! Now come to the awesome me!"

With a crazed look in his eyes, he set off to hunt more prey, the red spade mark on his left hand growing brightly as he clutched his sword, the fresh blood leaving a bloody trail.

In just a couple of days, Gilbert had successfully locked in and slaughtered many creatures. As he roamed the forest out in the open, he waved his sword around, holding it in a haughtily way, challenging all to come at once and attack. Hearing the creatures wail and cry in pain before they are forever silenced became sweet, addicting music to his ears. Every drop of blood that splattered onto himself became like a badge of honor. He refused to wash it, allowing it to dye his clothes completely red.

Gilbert had just finished massacring another crowd of creatures as the cool night breeze picked up, carrying the scent of fresh blood. Basking in the moonlight, his evil, psychotic grin was visible as he adoringly stroked his velvet-red sword. His mind was preoccupied, envisioning how he will kill the next batch of victims. He enjoyed to kill them quickly, allowing the more of their blood to splatter onto him, but felt absolute delight listening them holler in pain, their voices quietly fading little by little.

The moment his mind wandered, a dozen of the remaining creatures crept behind him, cautious to not make a single sound. Gilbert felt their malicious aura and with lighting speed, he spun around, but alas, was too late.

The dark creatures already surrounded him and snatched his sword, enabling him defenseless. Gilbert desperately tried to fight back, trying to claw his way out. But it was useless. The creatures attacked him, finally taking him up to his offer, until Gilbert had multiple, deep cuts, all bleeding profusely. He blacked out due to the pain, leaving his remaining life to his enemy.

When he came to, he was entombed behind a cage, deep within the forest, hidden by many trees. He yelled and screamed, trying to get out of this confinement, but none answered.

Other than his bloody trail and sword, all trace of him vanished, never to be seen again. However, when loud shouts and screams are heard from the forest, a rumor between the citizens of Wonderland is said.

_A mass murderer is trapped in the forest for the sins he has committed. If you ever find yourself lost, never follow the red path, for it shall lead you to your death..._


	3. Second Alice An Unknown Child

~The Second Alice~

"Citizens of Wonderland, I have a vision where this kingdom will be united. In my vision, no such thing as conflict or war exists, and everyone can co-exist with one another. . . "

I rolled my eyes at the self proclaimed "King's" speech. Peace? Kindness? That was -and still is- a fools' dream; an unrealistic fantasy that would never take place.

I half-listened to his so called "vision" as I walked towards the execution spot where I would spend the last moments of my life before I would get killed, looking down at my metal shackles, finding it more interesting than what that fool was saying. It was like he had never lived a day in the real world; either that or he had a very small brain.

_Did he expect everyone to hold hands, form a ring around a heart-warming bonfire, and sing inspirational hymns after everyone had a turn to spill their guts out? _I bit back a chuckle at the hilarious scene forming in my head. Humans are incapable of that kind of actions by nature. A reflex for them is to ostracize anything "out of the norm". They treat the poor with contempt, taunting them with their own riches. They avoided people whose appearance did not meet their ridiculous expectations, as if they were diseased. They would kill and use underhanded tactics at whim to achieve what they wanted. When they wanted to shirk their responsibilities, they simply abandoned it, uncaring how their reckless decision would affect others.

But that was the past. The two guards beside me jerked at my chains, signaling for me to stop walking. I sighed heavily. The "King" is still spilling out this touching speech that I had dubbed as total bullshit. And to think _that_ was the last thing I heard before I leave this wretched world.

I willed my eyes to close, forcing all outside sound and imagery to be driven away from my mind. All noise became a background murmur and I was able to recall the only time I was happy and freed of all hatred I possessed towards Wonderland, before it was cruelly ripped away from my grasp.

It was a warm, sunny morning. Spring had recently come, warming the world with it's air of renewed hope and new beginnings. People normally celebrate the season for the blooming of flowers, a sign that all their worries would poof away into nothingness.

But spring to me shows the harsh, icy cold known as winter had finally been killed, until it shows up in another year. I didn't believe in renewed hope and new beginnings. For me, hope had died a longtime ago, and I know from experience that new beginnings would never happen; life for me would always be the same-harsh and lonely.

I laid on the ground, choosing to stay still for a little while longer, to stay in my own little world before facing reality. But the nearby birds had some grudge against me, because they kept chirping out their annoying sounds. I groaned, reluctantly got up, and threw a rock at them, successfully scattering them in various directions. But my triumph was short-lived, for they soon convened at that same spot, continuing on as if nothing happened.

Scowling, I briskly walked away from the alley, shielding my eyes as the sun began to shine it's bright rays, targeting my face.

"_Gross. It's that street girl, what's-her-face. . ."_

"_You know, I was taking a stroll yesterday and I saw her digging through trash!"_

"_That poorly-dressed pathetic excuse of a human shouldn't exist."_

I was tempted to scream, but decided it was not worth my time and continued on my way.

"It's not like I wanted this kind of life," I muttered bitterly, resentment and anger bubbling up. "I didn't want to live outside, unshielded from the cruel weather, wearing tattered rags, and always wondering when my next meal will come."

That's right. I was poor, lived on the streets, and owned nothing but the clothes on my back. Unlike those selfish, wasteful brats who were well off, I had nothing; no house, family, or even a name.

In my dreams, I vaguely remember someone who took care of me. He gave me everything a girl would need, making me feel there was a reason to be happy and carefree. I would always run up and hug him, inhaling his scent. I've only smelled it one other time, but I don't recall the name. When he gave me piggy back rides, I would snuggle in closer to his warm, wide back. When his huge hand covered mine, I felt safe.

But that person is gone now. These memories of him are the small things I can remember when I was a toddler. As soon as I gained full awareness of the world, I was alone, struggling to survive.

From those vague memories, I know he was a nice man. But I can't help but think of him negatively. He left me to fend for myself in this cruel, horrible world, a place no one should be left alone, much less a fourteen year old. But fate does not spare anyone, regardless of race, age, belief, gender, or intellect. Ironic how that fate is the only thing that treats everyone and everything equally in this messed up reality.

I was distracted, my thoughts directed at how I was going to snag my next meal when I collided with someone, knocking me down to the ground.

"Oww. . . " I whined in pain, rubbing my now-sore bottom. "Hey bastard! Watch where your going!"

I glared at him expectantly, but the guy stared at me with this curious expression. I took a quick glance over his appearance.

He wore a long navy blue coat, a tan shirt, and black pants. Behind his glasses were violent eyes, and his hair was a wavy brown, a wild strand appearing in the front of his face.

It was obvious he was one of those rich people in the city. It annoyed me how he kept looking at me, as if this was the first time he's seen a homeless person. I snapped at him, my arms ready to claw at him any moment.

"What the hell are you looking at?" I demanded.

The man continued to stare, his eyes moving up and down behind his glasses, as if he was observing me. He was annoying me and my blood boiled even more. "I'm not something on display. Get the fuck away from me."

He completely ignored my statement and continued to stare, now focusing on my arms. I twitched and my left arm pulled back, ready to beat the daylights of the guy. I aimed for his cheek, letting my fist fly towards the target.

He stopped my attack with his bare palm, and held my fist in his hand. He quickly stood up and began to briskly walk towards a nearby bench, dragging me with him.

"Fuckin' let go of me rapist!" I jerked away, repeatedly hitting his arm with my free hand, though nothing fazed him. He forced me to sit on the bench. He pulled something from the inner, shallow depths of his pocket. I slightly flinched, still trying to escape.

The man's cough interrupted me from my mental declaration. "Now," he stated irritated, "Can you stay still so I can mend your clothing?" He pulled out a small sewing kit and began to thread the thin string through the needle's eye.

I bit his hand, only letting go once I tasted blood. Surprised, his grip on my loosened and I took back my arm successfully. "Why the hell would I stay still? I'm not some stupid dumb-ass. That needle's probably poisoned or something."

The guy stared at me wide-eyed as I grinned at his reaction. I flipped him off and turned around. I took a step forward and my knees grew weak. My hands flew to my stomach, gripping it tightly. I groaned and crumpled to the ground. As I fell, my head collided with the pavement, knocking me unconscious.

I blinked slowly, my head throbbed as if a thousand of needles had pierced my skull. I slowly raised my head, still a bit disoriented. I saw a familiar man in front of me, staring at me with concern. There was a certain smell that came from him, enchanting me into a trance. "Fa. ..ther?" The fog in my mind cleared and I realized with disappointment and embarrassment that it was that glasses-guy from earlier.

Where the hell am I? I thought, frantically looked around, seeing people calmly eating, once in a while chatting with their companion while women dressed in maid outfits darted from table to table, furiously writing down the orders from their customers. I took a couple of deep breaths and looked at my surroundings once again, realizing I was at the nearby tavern, the one I periodically steal food from.

The smell of newly cooked food wafted from the kitchen, my stomach growling as a reaction. I had no idea what kind of food the cooks were making, but my mouth was drooling at the delicious aroma.

It seems that he didn't hear my accidental spill. "Are you okay? I figured you were going to be hungry once you woke up, since it is past noon."

I tried to mask my emotions as I thought of a good comeback, when I smelled hot, fresh soup laid in front of me. I felt as if the soup and I were the only things that existed at the moment. I held the silver spoon (an actual silver, clean spoon!) as if I had just one the biggest battles in history. I scooped up the creamy liquid and gulped it down, not minding the burning sensation. The way the soup slid down my throat down to my stomach felt nice and I mentally declared for this soup to be the best thing ever made.

I continued to eat, angels singing every time the spoonful of soup entered my mouth. Only when I took my last bite did the man chuckle in amusement, breaking the spell cast upon me. My eyes snapped to him, "What are you laughing at. Never seen a girl eat before?"

"It's just that you ate it as if it was the first time you ate in a long time. I'm sorry. It's rude of me to laugh," he looked at me apologetically. Immediately, a pang of guilt rushed through me, though I forcefully pushed it away, rejecting the emotion.

I shrugged, involuntarily relaxing. "No, your right. It's been. . ." I paused, counting the days in my head, "almost a week since I've last eaten."

He looked horrified and immediately lectured me, " Are you trying to kill yourself? Trying to lose weight this way is incorrect and puts your life in danger. Your body will go into starvation mode and your stomach will turn nearby muscles into fat and start to digest it, while the rest of your muscles deteriorate. Not to mention your organs will shut down," he signaled a nearby waitress and rapidly pointed at several meals on the menu, ordering it to be delivered to their table A.S.A.P.

That's something new; it's like he actually cares about my self-being_,_ I thought. But his answer pisses me off.

"Yes, I'm trying to kill myself in the slowest and most painful way as possible," I responded, my answer heavily dripped in sarcasm. I dropped it and began to yell at him. "You think I want to kill myself? What kind of sad-excuse of a human wants that? I didn't eat because I couldn't, not because I want to fuckin' lose any more weight!"

I huffed and crossed my arms, contemplating whether or not I should leave. But the waitress came back, her arms full of food that my desire to eat overpowered all other thoughts, demanding I should stay.

"I am terribly sorry for assuming such a thing, but please eat. I insist," He said this softly, looking at the table cloth, feeling shameful of himself. I bit back a smile, forcing my face to show indifference instead. I'm just staying for the food. After I'm done, I'm leaving.

I silently ate, keeping an eye on the guy as I did. But he just smiled when I took my first bite, looking as happy as a child getting a cake on his birthday. I stopped eating; the untrusting side of me taking over. I eyed the food suspiciously, "Why are you smiling? Did you slip in something? 'Cuz if you did, then I swear I'll take this chair and repeatedly smack you in the head."

He shook his head,"I didn't do anything to your food. I'm just glad that your eating. I'm a doctor, so I'm very concerned about your health."

I tried to find a part of him that would give away his ulterior motive, but what he said seemed in all sincerity, so I continued to eat. "Would you still care about my health if I said I was an orphan living on the streets with no way to pay you?" Though I'm glad he was paying for my food, I don't want him to find out later that I can't pay him back. He'll probably demand some ridiculous task I have to do in order to repay him.

" A person is a person and it is the duty of a doctor to take care of everyone they see injured or have need of medical attention," he replied casually, as if he got this type of question every single day.

"Then your pretty different then the rest, doc. Just don't ask, or expect me to pay you back later," I replied. I was surprised, but I knew that he is only saying what a noble person would say. No one would really think that way, for humans in general only take care of those who have money. Besides, he's rich, and from my past experiences, I know rich people shouldn't be trusted.

The conversation between us dropped, an awkward silence between us. He looked uncomfortable, distracting me from my delicious food. I sighed. "If you have something to say, just say it so I can continue eating."

He looked at me in all seriousness which kind of freaked me out. "I know I'm speaking out of line, but I wonder what happened that made you act with such a cynical attitude."

I almost laughed at his question. "Is that all? And I thought you were thinking up a solution to end world hunger! I told you I was an orphan. Whoever took care of me before abandoned me before I was 5. For nine years I've been living on the streets. Is that a good-enough answer for you?"

He looked like if he just solved a murder mystery. "So that's why you act all cynical. You try to keep people away so you won't have to experience abandonment again from someone you bonded with. You are trying to keep people away purposefully so you won't get hurt," he said matter-of-factly.

I felt my face get red and I slammed my hand on the table. "What kind of crap are you sprouting out! I'm like this because it's my personality, not to protect me or whatever. So what gives you the right to assume that?"

I walked out of the local restaurant, feeling the stares of the other customers boring holes in my back, not that I cared. _What the hell was that guy saying? Protecting me so I don't get hurt? As if! If I'm not like this, then I would be dead by now. Damn doctor. _

I became aware of footsteps following me. Angrily, I turned around. "What the hell do you want now!"

Panting, he held out his hand, ignoring my question. "I am Doctor Roderich Edelstein. What is your name?"

He insults me and he expects us to be friends? As if! I glared at him coldly, " I don't have one. Go away before I murder you."

He must have been super oblivious to not notice the growing animosity I have towards him. He remained silent in thought before responding. "Then I'll think of a good name for you. Of course I have to spend time with you in order to pick a suitable name."

I groaned. _What do I have to do in order to get that guy away from me! _

I saw he was still smiling, his hand still waiting for a handshake or some sort of response. "I give up. You can follow me, but don't expect I'll acknowledge your presence." I turned around and continued to walk, hoping he would give up and go away. Unluckily for me, he called my bluff and followed.

I noticed my sleeve patched up, probably from glasses-guy. I involuntarily smiled.

_Though I have yet to figure out if he's good or bad, maybe it won't hurt to have him around._

I felt someone slap me, breaking me from my reverie. I glared at the guard, infuriated he looked away as if he didn't do anything.

_What was that all about? _I thought. I stole a glance at the king and tried to suppress a groan. I know I shouldn't be thinking this, but I'd rather die a fast death than listen to him yacking about his "vision".

I looked at the crowd, feeling disgust at their faces. They were all staring at him in admiration; as if he was the savior of the world. But I can't blame them. This is probably the first time they found someone to look up to; it's too bad they're looking up to a complete nutcase.

I was lucky to find someone worthy to call a hero. He saved me from the dark hole dubbed my life. He showed me the wonders of living. And most importantly, he gave me a sole reason to exist, though that reason was short-lived.

Fall. My favorite time of the year. All the hard work I've put into my own, small garden pays off as I harvest the fruits of my labor. Not only that, but I always seem to have the best luck during this season.

I stood up straight, grunting as I stretched out my back after spending an hour or so tending my garden. Taking advantage of this small break, I heaved in fresh, crisp air, looking at the colorful trees, the wispy clouds, and the bright, morning sun.

Slightly shivering as the cold wind picked up, I turned to my companion.

"You done yet Roddy?" I looked at the pile he has harvested so far, unimpressed at his work. He pulled out all the unripened vegetables, the dead weeds all scattered in random places. Even his rose bush, which he pleaded me to grow, was poorly cared for, the leaves showing signs of dehydration. My disappointment was probably evident in my face as he pulled out an apologetic look.

"I'm sorry. I'm just not used to doing this work. I'd rather compose or play my instruments."

"Then don't help! Just stay to the side and hand me tools," I growled, though I would never dare tell him I was laughing inside.

He hung his head, dejected, as he followed my orders. I sighed, glancing at the work left plus fixing the mess he created.

I turned to him, "If it weren't for me, your precious rose bushes would die. You are _so _paying for my next meal," I stated before starting my back-breaking work. But it was worth it; I didn't have to feel like dirt and I can eat without wasting money. My garden was one of the few things that keep me going in this life; it made me feel important, as if me vanishing will actually effect someone, or in this case, something. Without me, my plants who depend on me will die; it is them that helps care for myself.

I finished my task fairly quickly and efficiently, something that none of the citizens of this city could, or would do, I'll tell you that. Wiping my brow, I stood proudly over the garden, something I own.

Technically, it was Roddy who bought the small piece of land for me. I had used it for many years, but it was on someone else's property, a fact that always prevented me from cultivating it more. I always had to conceal the fact I was growing something, only planting the tiniest of foods as to not raise suspicion.

But that was in the past. It was finally mine and I can proudly say I own this garden and everything growing are the results from my hard work.

I felt a tap on my shoulder, signaling me it was time to go. I peeked at _my _garden once more before walking towards town.

We reached our usual café, _Le beau temps_, and sat at our regular seat. Not much has changed since Roddy and I met here. The name changed recently (though I never bothered to pay attention to its original name), but the hustle and bustle same from the year before.

Roddy ordered the special, as usual, and was now smiling at me. "What? Is there dirt on me?"

He chuckled, as if he thought of a funny joke. "What the hell are you laughing 'bout?" He was starting to get on my nerves again. You would think he would avoid that, seeing as I almost smashed his head in with a thrown-away frying pan.

He grinned, "You've become more happier lately; less cynical and more optimistic," he noted happily as the waitress placed our food in front of us, scowling at me.

I scowled back before preoccupying myself with my food. _He's right though. The beginning of this year, I would have never admitted myself loving a season. Hell, I wouldn't even let a complete stranger at the time follow me around like a lost puppy! But here I am, enjoying fall, eating soup familiarly in front of someone I met a couple of months ago. _

I honestly don't know how to take in this information. In some ways it was good, a sign that I'm adjusting life for the better. But it scared me; treading a path unfamiliar to me, one with so many uncertainties. Besides, who says the way I'm acting is good? There was nothing that clearly defines what is good or bad, so I'm left here in the dark, unable to choose or understand where to go.

I didn't want to focus on this issue at the moment, and forced a change of topic. "Hey Roddy? Why'd you become a doctor even though you'd rather play your piano?" It was awkward, but I was determined to change the course of the conversation.

He followed the new flow, no comments on the change of subject. "I honestly have no idea why I chose this career. When I "woke up", I was already a doctor, a line of patients waiting to be treated by me. Though I immediately went to help them with no experience, my hands and words seemed to work on their own, performing procedures as if I've done it millions of times." He shrugged, going back to his lunch.

I remembered he told me about his past, an act to get me to trust him. He told me he opened his eyes one day, not remembering anything. Everyone knew him, but he didn't know himself. He didn't know who he was, what was his background; nothing. But his brain apparently stored some part of his former life, one that consisted of music, medicine, and apparently a girl.

He has vague memories of her, similar to my situation with my father. From time to time, he gets flashes of his past memories, whenever a sight, smell, or conversation becomes familiar to his life before.

It was when he confessed, to tell me the reason why he's hanging around me. He tells me I'm similar to her in appearance, that we both have light brown hair and the same emerald eyes. After zoning out once, he came back to reality, placing a pink flower in my hair, claiming it to be Lake Balaton. Our personality's the same too. Apparently, we have the same foul mouth and frightening temper. I laughed at the mental image when he told me she constantly held a frying pan by her side, ready to use it as a weapon.

I guess he was expecting me to flip out, that I would swear to kill him for using me. But I shrugged it off, asking when we could eat. I haven't told him yet, but I'm using him the same way. He reminds me of my father, and having him around feels like I have an actual parent who cares for me.

The difference between the two of us are significant; I'm gathering full memories of my father and I, while he is only remembering her, not yet gaining some sense of who he was before.

I finished my bowl of soup, the metal spoon clanking as it hit the empty container. I looked up to see he had finished too, though he seemed busy looking at his surroundings.

Curious, I looked around too. It seemed busier than usual, and people kept getting out of their seats, running out of the café. I stopped a lady who was trying to run to the door. " Hey, what's going on?"

She jerked her arm out my grasp, spitting on my face before continuing on her quest. I wiped away her saliva with the back of my hand, regretting asking that bitch.

Roddy handed me a napkin before questioning a nearby man. They talked animatedly as I sterilized my face. _Life is still so unfair._

He gestured for me to quickly follow him before he ran out of the café, like the rest. I ran after him, stealing a piece of bread left on a table on the way. _Hey, it's their fault for leaving it there. Might as well take it for the road. _

It took me a while to find him through the sea of people. I practically had to push, shove, and claw my way out of the mass of citizens. Gasping, I screamed, "Roddy! Where the fuck are you!"

Someone tapped my shoulder, and out of fright (though I'll never admit it), I almost punched the daylights of the person. I sighed of relief when I saw it was just Roddy.

"God! Why the hell is everyone crowded into one spot? Is someone going to show another chest filled with novelty wigs or something?" I asked, my voice struggling to overpower the loud noise.

He shook his head, took my hand, and forcefully pushed the crowd to make way for the both of us. We gasped for air when we reached the front, surprised at what we saw.

A grandiose parade was taking place; one I've heard from snot-nosed girls flaunting their wealth in front of me. I stared in a mixture of awe and disgust, as a carriage pulled a man through the streets of the town.

_Who the hell does he think he is? With all those materials, someone could buy a whole kingdom, or even supply an unlimited amount of food to everyone! _ My anger boiled once again, fuming at the guy's possessions.

Even though I've never had, much less touched, any of the materials used for his carriage, I know they're all real and all really expensive. The leather used to restrain the poor horses were encrusted with many multicolored jewels, the wordings spelled out in gold paint. The carriage itself was painted extravagant colors, all ostentatious and bright; the wood cut out from a cherry tree.

But what made me angry the most was the guy being transported. His wavy-blond locks bounced, all shiny without a speck of dirt. He was adorned with the most gleaming of jewels on his fingers, a long, heavy cape, and a crown on his head. His purple eyes gleamed at the attention he was receiving and he waved at the people, unaware of his own foolishness.

I turned to Roddy ready to rant on the guy's stupidity. All intention of that drained away when I found him on the floor, screaming like a banshee. I shook him, for the first time worried of someone other than myself. "Roddy? Roddy? Are you okay? Say something Roddy!"

He just continued screaming, his eyes closed and his hands pressed against his ears. I looked around, hoping someone would come and help him. But the people around us turned their heads away, excitedly talking about the procession.

_Bastards. _I thought venomously while I tried my best to goad Roddy to standing. It took a while but I managed to get him to walk, though he continued to shut his eyes, murmuring something to himself in a strange language.

"Let's get you home Roddy," I muttered, leading him through the streets to his house. The moment he touched his bed, he was out, breathing irregularly.

I've watched him take care of his patients to know the basic steps. I checked his temperature, to my surprise discovering he has a fever. It took some hours, but it cooled down. I sat in the closest chair and fell asleep, hoping he would be alive the next time I would open my eyes.

"W-Water, please."

I woke up to the weak, raspy request, my crusty eyes opening against it's will. I looked around for a glass of water, almost dropping the glass before it reached Roddy. He gulped it down in one swig, coughing as the water replenished the lack of moisture in his throat.

"Are you okay? You were pretty out of it yesterday," I asked tentatively.

He moaned at the his head's throbbing pain before answering. "I'm not sure. I saw that guy and memories began to flood into my brain, only to be blocked by who-knows-what. It gave me a migraine."

_A huge migraine it must have been. You were screaming like you were being burned to death. _I thought, not daring to speak them out loud.

He must have seen my concerned expression. He smiled weakly at me, trying to assure to me he was alright. "Thank you for taking care of me. That was kind of you."

He began to quiver though, his body gradually began to shake violently. He frowned, tears falling down. "I-I don't know what's h-happening to me! J-Just now, I a-almost remembered something, w-when something b-blocked it."

I didn't know what to do. This was the first time this kind of situation has happened in front of me. I just stood there, wide-eyed and silent, useless.

Roddy continued talking, eyes wild, his hands once again pressing against his ears. "I-I want to know! I w-want to know e-everything about m-my past! B-But I d-don't at the same t-time! W-What if I was a terrible c-criminal, a m-murderer? W-What if I was a l-loner, an o-outcast to society? T-There's so many uncertainties that I'm not s-sure I w-want to know anymore!"

He began to murmur to himself in that strange language, his sobs growing louder and louder.

I inched closer to him, pulling him to a hug to calm him down. But he growled at me, his eyes murderous. "Don't touch me," he ordered, as if he would kill me if I refused.

I was afraid. I felt my knees buckle, my hand clammy. I turned around and ran, putting as much distance between us as possible. I only stopped once I reached the outskirts of the town, panting, gasping for air. It was that time I chose to curl up in my little ball and cry, the first time since I've been abandoned.

_**That was the last time he saw me through sane eyes.**_

The next time I saw him, he was playing a grand piano in the middle of the plaza. How the piano got there, I had no idea, but that was the last thing on my mind.

Roddy, the doctor that saved me that day from starvation, the guy that gave me more hope in life, the one who promised to give me a name, was furiously pounding on many chords, unaffected by the growing crowds. He soon finished the piece, panting, his arms red, a blue diamond on his hand glowing brightly. Instead of bowing politely to the crowd, as he normally would, he began to play again.

He struck a note, shivering at the ominous sound it created. He pressed another, delighted at the pure note. He positioned his hands over the first cord, and began to play.

His hands seemed to float across the keys, his fingers became like dances, leaping and jumping as if he was unbidden. Every note, every chord, every measure, he poured his emotions, his soul into it, and his feeling resonated inside each citizen who lived in the city.

His playing brought an overpowering emotion; insanity. The emotion put into the song sang to me, to my hurt and broken self. I shivered as my madness began to consume me, piece by piece, eating me away.

But there was fear; fear for the man Roddy has become. The crazed eyes, the disheveled look; it didn't match Roddy at all and it scares me. That was the one thing that kept me from allowing my insanity to swallow me up. Seeing the current state of the doctor shocked me back to reality. I didn't want to become like that, and I was damn sure he doesn't want to be like this either. So I had to resist his tempting song so I can save him from whatever brought him into this trance.

I slinked away, taking one more glance at him. He seemed to be in his own little, mad world where only he and his piano existed. His eyes flew across the page in lightening speed, reading every note accurately. Horrified, I ran away, determined to bring back my friend to reality.

~ Narrator P.O.V ~

The sun was setting, it's bright lights slowly dipping below the horizon, the sky slowly fading from red, blue, and purple, to a pure black. The citizens walked back to their homes, all tired and ready for bed. Roderich was the exception. He has been playing continuously for many days, and he intended to continue. A breeze picked up, making his hairs stand on the back of his neck, but he ignored the growing feeling of paranoia and instead, poured it into the piece.

A dark shadow loomed behind him, shaking. His eyes watered and his tears began to fall. He grabbed something from the depths of his tailcoat and his hands trembled as he brought the gun up. He stood there for a moment, his insanity keeping the gun placed on the back of the pianist's head. His tears streamed out, his consciousness screaming to stop this outrageous act. His mentality was far too cracked to listen, to be saved. The moment Roderich struck down on the harsh cord, the trigger was pressed, and a moment later, the pianist lopped forward, random notes being pressed by his dead-weight body.

The blood from the wound spluttered, splattering over the murderer and the piano. His hands slowly falling limply to his sides, the blue diamond on his hand, gone.

The killer's lips quivered as he realized the sin he had committed. A slight chuckle escaped his lips until it escalated to a high pitched scream. He dropped the gun he had been tightly gripping and ran away from the location, his blood stained top hat gently falling of the pool of blood, now forming on the ground, forgotten.

~ Citizen's P.O.V~

I was determined to beat some sense into Roddy. It's been a week since I found him madly playing on his piano, and I've been formulating a plan to get him back.

Nonstop, he's been at the piano, playing the same song over and over; for what reason I have no knowledge about. I ran towards the plaza as the sun was setting, heart pounding and my mind racing. It soon grew dark, my eyes trying to adjust to the change of light when I accidentally collided with someone.

Our eyes locked and something inside me told me to get the hell away from him. I quickly obliged. I had no time to be messing around with some stranger. Getting to Roddy was more important.

When I reached the plaza, I vomited, wishing I never thought to come back to the place.

Roddy was dead, his blood forming a dark-red pool around him. His blood was splattered everywhere, a gaping hole in his back.

"R-Roderich?" I quietly whispered, like a child realizing imaginary friends are make believe. When he didn't answer, I became hysterical, shaking him violently, screaming, "Roddy! You better wake up now or else I'll give you hell to deal with! Wake the fuck up! Wake up you bastard! Roddy!"

My voice choked as I began to sob. I fell to my knees, uncaring how I was being covered in his blood. "You _promised_! You promised me you'll stay by me. You promised me you'll give me a name. Why the hell did you break your promise, shattering the only thing I believed in! Why?"

"D-don't leave me alone," I whimpered, crying, uncaring how everyone would see me. I stayed by his side until morning, bawling my eyes out like a little child. Once morning came, I fled the scene, knowing I wouldn't be able to survive if I was found beside his dead body.

_That's the last time I'll _cry. I promised myself. My heart and soul hardened, never to melt again. It seems life truly is cruel. It took away my hope, gave it back for a short period of time, before ripping it away. It's either life, karma, or people who is to blame. But either way, it does not change this one simple, heart- wrenching fact.

_**You will always end up alone, left to fend for yourself. There is no hope to change this fact, only acceptance. **_

True to my word, that was the last time I've cried. Even when remembering the past year, or even in the face of death, I won't cry. I refuse to show any kind of vulnerability to anyone or anything.

Instead, I plastered on a grin, my chin held high as I stared at the sky. I'll still continue to be the strong rebel, the one Roddy once told me he wished he could be.

The sun was shining brightly, not a cloud in sight. Birds chirped, resting in their nests perched high up in the newly-bloomed trees. Bees buzzed around my ears and a rose petal floated down onto my nose. I stared at it, sure that I looked like a cross-eyed woman.

_Where the hell did this come from? There are no rose bushes nearby. Plus, it came from above, a place I'm sure a rose bush -much less any plant- would grow._

I looked up once again, surprised at what I saw. There was Roddy standing next to a man and a woman. The woman looked oddly similar to me, her smile perfectly imitating mine. The man looked like my father from my memories, with an overall messy appearance, but a warm ambiance around him. Roddy looked the same as the day I met him, neat and pristine.

All three of them looked as if they were ghosts. They stretched out their hands towards me, coaxing me to reach for it. Roddy's voice filled my head, making me wonder if I've finally gone insane.

_Dear, it's time for you to meet up with us. I'm sorry for leaving, but I shall fulfill part of my promise while your still alive. Your name is Elizabeth, my dear. So Elizabeth, come meet us soon._

I smiled, ready to follow him wherever he wanted me to go. "So, Elizabeth's my name? It's nice! Elizabeth!" That was the last thing I said in this life, before departing to the next world.

* * *

**Author Notes:**

I really did enjoy writing this. Yes, this is an OC. I loved creating her. It was so fun! It might be hard to think this, considering she's so cynical and everything, but it was fun. Especially since all those cynical thoughts she has is exactly what I have. I really did place my ideas in her. But of course, I love humankind, with it's flaws. I'm a pessimistic and an optimistic. I'm a living contradiction, LIKE A STARBURST!

Anyway, I hope you didn't mind that I wrote it as another perspective. But I just can't write Austria. Or England. Or any of the elegant, refined characters. It's just hard for me. :P Again, hope you like it! :D


	4. Third Alice France's Selfishness

**Author Notes:**

**WARNING: INCLUDES HORROR DESCRIPTIONS ABOUT THE FRENCH REVOLUTION and TALKS ABOUT EXECUTION. - Tell me if you think this should be rated to M then. But until then, you have been warned. **

* * *

~Third Alice~

"_We demand you to use your money to provide bread for poor families!"_

"_You should follow the Revolution! Therefore, punish all officers who speak against it!_

"_Replace the Royal Family guards with Parisian soldiers who dutifully and loyally follow the Revolution!"_

The words continued to chant in the troubled King's mind as he paced back and forth, distressed by his current situation, his steps echoing in the empty throne room.

"Ah, _mon cher, le roi Louis XVI. _ It seems you are troubled," the voice stated with a sigh, his voice breaking the silence. _[Ah, my dear, king Louis XVI.]_

King Louis slightly jumped up, his head snapped to the source. He let out his breath when he saw Francis, his most trusted adviser and friend, a worried expression etched into his face.

Putting a hand over his chest, he exclaimed, "Oh Francis! You scared me!" Sitting himself back on his throne, he asked, "So what is it you would like to discuss Francis?"

Francis held up a bottle of fine champagne, the small oxygen bubbles quickly rising up to the top of the container. In the other hand held two crystal glass cups. "_Non, mon cher. _I wouldn't dare to discuss anything in your situation. _Mais, tu veux boire le champagne avec moi? Pouvons-nous parler plus tard?" _he offered, already pouring his boss's portion._ [No, my dear.] [But, do you want to drink champagne with me? We can talk later.]_

King Louis graciously accepted the glass and drank the champagne in silence.

Francis imitated his king, keeping silent as he kept a watchful eye on the troubled kind. They continued in this state until the last drop was poured and drank.

Francis sighed. breaking the silence, knowing it would be unwise to prolong the situation. He faced his country's king, knowing this might be the last time they could talk. He opened him mouth, ready to ask what the king intended to do, but he now saw the determined look his in eyes, one that probably appeared during their small break.

A smile graced his lips, "You are an indecisive, but kind, king who is just cursed with bad luck to be born during the enlightenment and debts. But I believe God is watching you and shall protect you and your family, either in this life or when you ascend up to the heavens."

King Louis XVI felt many mixed emotions flood in, but none steered him away from his decision. "_Merci beaucoup, _Francis. _Vive la nation!" _he declared._ [Thank you very much.] [ Long live the nation!]_

He wiped away the building tears before replying, a smile gracing his lips. "_Merci beaucoup."_ He turned around and walked out of the throne room, unknowing he would only see his country's ruler under horrible circumstances.

~Time Skip~

From a distance, Francis watched King Louis XVI and his family be taken away, forced to move from their home in Versailles to Tuileries, the old palace in Paris. Afterward, Francis introduced him to the leaders of the Jacobins and the Mountains, Georges-Jacques Danton and Maximilien Robespierre. Surprisingly, they shunned him, though they were close before this whole mess started. Being shunned by them, he secretly kept a close eye on them and the rest of his citizens, helping them without their knowledge.

Everyday, Francis was forced to see the chaotic state of his country, he himself having very little influence or power to help. Every day, he wished, pleaded to God to help his people. He negotiated for peace with Austria, Prussia, Switzerland, and the other counties his people decided to wage war in. He worked to the point of true exhaustion, only to push himself further to continue to work for his country.

But when King Louis XVI was executed on the guillotine, Francis cracked and isolated himself in an empty room in the Versailles palace. One sleepless night, he had the urge to roam around the quiet palace, for a reason he could not place. He passed through many halls, his hand gliding over the nearby walls. As sleep began to take a hold of him once more, he stumbled into the throne room.

The empty seat struck a painful chord. In Francis' memories, a king would sit there, good or not, and direct the country. But now, there would be no such thing as a king and everything he had known and help brought up was crumbling.

Unconsciously, he crept closer to the seat until he himself was sitting upon it. He closed his eyes for a moment, to imagine the past, his past that he will now have to part. But exhaustion took over, and he fell asleep.

He woke up, his backside feeling very sore. He rubbed his crusted eyes and slowly sat up, musing his hair. He yawned, taking in his surroundings.

He snapped out of his disoriented state, his eyes shot wide open, and he looked around panickingly. "Mon dieu! Where am I?"

He was surrounded by poorly-built, seemingly-ancient houses, all made of rock and wood. The ground was paved by jagged rocks, and the streets seemed to be deserted. "Is this what the revolution did to my country?" he thought sadly to himself, a wave of empathy washing through him.

A young man, clad in blue, dirty overalls, hastily passed him. Francis quickly grabbed the man's arm, asking, "Où suis-je? Qui l'a fait à votre village? Les soldats? Les révolutionnaires?" _[Where am I? Who did this to your village? The soldiers? The revolutionaries?]_

The man jerked his arm, releasing it from France's grasp. "What kind of screwed up language are you speaking, you rich-spoiled brat?" he spat out in English before running away.

"Pardon? Wait! Where am I?" he yelled out as the guy ran away from him. He sighed and stood up, figuring which direction would be best.

It was weird; the man did not understand a word he was saying. Perhaps he was a tourist, but a tourist during his country's revolution? How unheard of. Or perhaps he was somehow magically transported to England or America, but this didn't seems like any place he knew.

Francis looked around uneasily. He had doubts of where he was. It seemed as he was not in his own country. There was a knot in the pits of his stomach convincing him of that.

He sighed once again; he had not encountered another person during his walk. He was beginning to lose hope when he felt a tug on his shirt. He looked down to see a small boy. His worried lips warmed into a sweet smile. "Enchanté mon petit enfant. Est-ce que tu es perdu?"

Seeing his confused loo, he quickly switched to English, "Hello small child. Are you lost?"

The boy smiled and began to talk, words that Francis would never expect to hear come from his mouth. "You still think we're in your pitiful country? How simple-minded you are to immediately believe this is the same country."

He cackled, startling Francis. His defense system kicked in, screaming to get away from the odd child. He stepped back, trying to distance himself from the seemingly '"psychotic boy," only to see his hand gripping tightly onto his shirt. He frantically tried to release his grip, looking around for anyone that might help.

The boy finished giggling, his grip tighter than ever. "Oh, love, no one's going to come save you."

His playful, sadistic smile became a thin line, his eyes staring into Francis'. "I am giving you a chance for people to accept you once again. I am allowing you to help this country. You can remake this country."

Francis' mind was filled at a scene; a country filled with peace. One where he can interact with his citizens without being hated and blamed. And there's no war, no foolish killings, no hate.

"I-Is it possible?" he asked with renewed hope, his mind still filled with his wishful thoughts. If what he says is true, then he can finally do some good, not just watch as things around him fall apart.

The child smirked, taking the far-off gaze as Francis' answer. He branded a small, green clover on the edge of Francis' right eye. Francis pressed his hands on the slowly-appearing mark, feeling a burning sensation gradually appear, making his tears well up.

"Then as the third Alice, I shall let you create your own world. Beware. Don't use your power for selfish reasons."

Francis noticed the absence of a tight grip on his shirt. He scanned the surrounding area, but the child was no where to be found. His words seemed to hang around him, putting a heavy weight on his shoulders. But Francis shrugged it aside, knowing to use power carefully was a given.

The pain now gone, he let his arms fall loosely to his sides. His eyes were filled with fiery determination as he looked at the poor city.

"_I shall create a world where there is no hate or war, only love and peace."_

In just half a year, France has showed the people of Wonderland how to turn their poor country into a prosperous one, specializing in agriculture. He taught them the evils of hate, slaughter, and war. All learned how important it was to set up a form of government to rule all, as to avoid terrible, chaotic state. And now, through the choice of the people, he now was sitting at the throne, current King of the country of Wonderland.

It was the people's choice of government and France was determined to avoid the same problems that caused the French Revolution.

He was preparing for an important meeting on determining the development of tools for agriculture in the courtroom when he heard shouts from the other side of the door.

"What's with the commotion?" France quietly asked the nearby guard.

The guard bowed in respect before answering, "King Francis, one of your citizens barged into the castle, demanding to see you. He seemed hostile so we apprehended him."

France nodded in understanding. "Thank you for correctly doing your job, _mais _I wish to hear his request."

The guard bowed once more before announcing France's recent order. The doors suddenly flew open, a fuming man stomping into the royal court, not bothering with any formalities. The guards began to move to arrest the man, but France lightly chuckled, waving his hand to show them it's was fine.

France was curious to hear what the villager wanted to say. After all, the man would give him some idea as to how to improve life in Wonderland.

However, as soon as the man opened his mouth, spilling a tornado of aggressive words, France regretted his actions. His once inviting smile slowly dropped to a frown, threatening to become a menacing scowl.

"And further more, I. . ."

"Stop right there. I refuse to listen to this blasphemy any further," France interrupted, his voice cold and heartless.

"And I **refuse **to follow your orders! You can't force me! After all, Wonderland shouldn't even have a king!" the man protested.

"Take him away," France commanded. His hands felt clammy and cold sweat began to form as he watched the man resist as the guards dragged him away.

"You are not needed! We do not need you! Go away! Go a. . . " The man's angry words were stopped midsentence by the large slam of the court door. But his words seemed to bounce around the room before they reached France's ears.

France trembled, his hand shakingly finding his ears before pressing against them, trying to block the words out.

"N-no. T-They n-need me. I-I am w-wanted," he stuttered, flashbacks of his past citizens shunning him running through his minds.

His guards contemplated whether on helping their distressed king or not, flinching back to their positiosn when their ruler sat dignified at his seat once again.

But now, it was the guards' turn to tremble. This was not the ruler they knew. France was a cheerful, warm person who did his best to laugh and smile. But this person was different.

True, he had the same wavy-blond locks, the same grandiose attire, and his trade mark stubble. However, the man in front of them was cold, his lips formed a rigid horizontal line and his hair seemed to lose it's lively bounce. This whole being seemed to drop the temperature of the room tremendously low.

The guards flinched when France pointed at them. "You, set up an execution for that man immediately."

Surprised by the monotonous tone used and the severity of the command, they stayed still, not even daring to breath.

"Set up the execution _now_," he repeated harshly, boring a hole with his fierce stare.

The guards jumped into action, the commanding officer barking orders at his subordinates. France's face betrayed no emotion as his eyes followed the activities of his guards. Unconsciously, his hand tensed, as if it was warning it's owner to not go through with his order.

Francis ignored his hand's unusual twist. Is what he was going to do is wrong? That thought never crossed his mind.

**_After all, what I do for the kingdom is not evil, but good for everyone. _**

France watched as the man walked towards the predetermined location he would die, his face tilted downward while guards flanked his sides. Francis's straight, lifeless expression didn't change as his citizens rioted, outraged by the severity of the punishment. He slowly raised his hand and he crowd hushed.

"Citizens of Wonderland," he announced, his voice reverberating around the area," This man has committed a foul crime, one that is too terrible to mention." He feigned sadness, actor-worthy tears now steadily dripping down his face. "This punishment is something that I would have loved to avoid, however..."

He paused, taking his time to wipe the crocodile tears away. When he began speaking again, he looked as if he was in a trance. "I have a vision, where the kingdom will be united and peaceful. The towns will be filled with the bustle of the market, the smell of fresh bread, and the light, care-free laughter of children as they play while their parents are assured they can be safe outdoors. In my vision, no such thing as conflict or war exists, and everyone can co-exist with one another."

His eyes gradually hardened, his blissful smile turning bitter. "My vision is not an easy goal. It takes effort of everyone and time to achieve it. Granted, there will be disputes along the way," he gestured at the farmer who seemed to just be there, waiting for his death. "However, with this display, let all conflicts halt. Let us all work hard to achieve this wonderful reality, so close to our reach. Let us put in all our efforts for this peace! Let us show that we can make a better world! Vive la nation! Vive la Wonderland!"

At first, he received no response. The air was still and all was quiet. For a split-second, France's insecurities resurfaced.

Any doubts that France had was drowned back to the murky depths of his mind when some brave person began to clap, breaking the silence. He looked at the people, his people, clapping, cheering, and proclaimed their devotion to this new cause by shouting "Vive la Wonderland!". Overly-emotional people wept with joy as children and excited teenagers chatted away with ideas. There were those who stayed quiet, unaffected by the activity around them, choosing to look at France with admiration and respect. All the positive reactions settled the worries France had. Smug, he looked over to the farmer, expecting to see a defeated will-power and a dying rebellious spirit.

But the defiance in the farmer's eyes, his upward grin, and his chin held hi told another story. Just by looking at the man, France knew exactly what the man was thinking. "_Don't think you won yet. Your 'touching' speech has them momentarily awestruck. It won't last that long. Before you know it, you'll be like me; forgotten, detested, and on the verge of death. This is the fate of all humans."_

Refusing to hear any more of this blasphemy, France flicked his wrist, signaling the executioner. With one swift move, the farmer was silenced and began his departure to another world, one he looked forward to during his life.

The crowd, seeing the execution finished, evacuated the area, ready to return to their busy schedule. Mothers began to calm their toddlers as they cried for their mother's attention. Men talked about their work or complained about their troubles. Children exchanged answers for their homework or hummed a tune once played by an unknown pianist.

France immediately left, eager to return to his castle. He ran past his maids, butlers, and guards, slamming his bedroom door practically in their faces.

He was gasping for breath as he leaned against the door, ignoring his servant's concerned questions. He felt a twinge of pain, gradually growing stronger until his face felt it was on fire. He pressed his left hand against the green-clover mark, willing the pain away. He stared at his right hand and held it up. It trembled, quivered, and shook so fast his hand was now a blur.

"Stop shaking! I command you to stop! _Arrete!" _he bellowed at his hand.

It refused to obey.

"Sir? Monsieur Francis? Are you okay?" his servants asked, worried for their master. "Monsieur, is someone there with you? Monsieur?"

When no reply came, they began to furiously pound at the door.

France didn't concentrate on the loud knocks. He was focused at the horrifying scene playing itself in front of him.

A lady clad in a pure white robe was being guided around by two guards. She looked frightened, her hair in disaray, her eyes flickering to every shadow that formed.

She whispered at the guards. They responded in rapid french, too quick for France to comprehend. She argued back as they ran in the hallways,

Foreign footsteps reached their ears, forcing them to end their spat quickly. One guard took lead, motioning for the lady to follow. The other guard's hand hovered over his hilt, nervously looking back.

What a mistake it was. He tripped over a crack, his body hurdling towards the concrete ground. He scrambled to stand up, but his efforts were in vain. He was immediately surrounded by the citizens, eyes wide in terror before a sword pierced through his flesh, bringing his life to an abrupt end.

The citizens who chased the other two brought a similar fate to the other guard. The lady looked at them, pleading for either mercy or the same swift death as the others.

The citizens' chose neither, instead cruelly pulling her hair, practically ripping it off her scalp.

Her screams pierced the air, drowning the amused sounds from her tormentors. One yanked her hair once again, and drew his face closer to her's.

"Pare, 'Vive la Revolution'!" [_Say Long live the Revolution!]_

She shook her head in defiance, biting on her lip as to stop her screams. The men didn't appreciate her silence and yanked her hair even harder, now holding a sword threateningly beside her neck. Her teeth had cut into her lip, drops of blood now falling to the floor.

The men were not amused. "Parle 'Vive la revolution maitenant, mais tu vas mortir!" [_Say long live the revolution now or die!]_

She forced her mouth open, her eyes twitched in pain as her teeth left the newly made wound. She looked at her captor and spat directly to his face.

_"No way in hell would I claim such a thing if this treatment will be the outcome."_

Her captor, red with frustration, whipped out his sword. A moment later, he held her head, he body crumpled on the ground, blood gushing from the neck opening.

Unsatisfied, he threw the head away and began to stab her dismembered body. He ripped her clothing to shreds and sliced at her chest, arms, and legs. Once all anger evaporated, he calmly walked away, an upturned smile upon his face with not one sign of guilt.

France could only focus on the dead corpse, brutally injured even in death. He wanted to look away, but some damn thing was preventing him. At some point, he was in a ball position, rocking back and forth. Tears continued to spill out and stream down his face, forming a small salt-lake puddle. He screamed out in hysterics, "Stop! Don't torture me any more!"

His servants, long given up on opening the door by asking, found a battering ram and put their efforts into smashing the door down. France in his state couldn't differentiate their words, only focusing on the basic sound; bangs and shouts.

His mind searched for a memory, one driven to the back of his conscious. The image of his angry citizens back in France, all riled up, ready for bloodshed in front of the Bastille.

They began to ram down the castle's drawbridge, demanding to be let in, After what seemed to be an eternity, the drawbridge's chains slacked, giving them permission to enter and rendering all soldiers' fare to the will of the parisian townsmen.

And France had no choice but the stay away, knowing that interfering will rebel against his people's will.

"Leave me alone," he whispered through his sobs. The bangs continued and France repeated, "Leave me alone!" trying to sound commanding, only to be forgotten by his shrill scream.

**_Didn't I say not to use your power for selfish reasons?_**

France looked up, quivering as he recognized the person as that small girl from months before.

"What the hell did you **DO **to me?" he screamed at the lass.

She mearly clicked her tongue in response, sprouting a coil, mischievous smile. She walked towards him in small steps, like a predator does to its prey.

Francis pressed his back against the door. When he locked eyes with the thing, he found himself unable to move, whimpering as his only sign of protest.

She chuckled at his fear, enjoying his discomfort. Stopping in front of him, he placed a gentle upward grin and carressed his face, stopping when she reached his mark.

He unconsciously, involuntarily relaxed, unflinching as he cold skin contacted his. Her smile seemed so inviting, but her words convinced him of her cruel, playful manner. Her grin was only a facade.

She pressed on France's mark, deriving pleasure as he winced and squirmed in pain. She drew closer to him until her icy breath felt like it would freeze his face.

"W-Who. . . What are you?" he fearfully asked. There was no way a person could be this cold, this cruel, this unhuman!

She let out a delightful glee at his pathetic state. "I was waiting for this question! But it matters not of what I am. Just know I am the overall ruler of this world. It is I who brought you here and it is I that decides your fate, my dear Alice."

There were numerous questions swimming around his head, but none her was able to express. She pushed harder on his mark. France screamed. He could feel his eye bulging, threatening to burst.

She gave a harsh glare, threatening to inflict more damage if he didn't stop yelling. Fearful to what would happen to him, he bit his lip, blood trickling down as his teeth sinked down lower to his bottom lip.

"Good Alice. As I was saying, I decide your fate. For your selfish deed, you will be punished. I wouldn't dare to deport you from this world. No, that would be too easy. You will stay here and rule Wonderland in my place. You will never be able to kill yourself, for if you try to, you will experience a much more crueler fate than this. This is your punishment, so heed it well, for there are no more second chances."

France's thought and vision became hazy, her words haunting. They echoed in his ears, ringing. When his mind cleared, she was gone, all physical indication of her visit gone.

But her presence was still present, wavelengths traveling through air. He stood up, walked to his bed, his eyes still looking around. His eyes glanced at the mirror, and the image shocked him. He turned pale, knowing that his punishment is truly cruel.

For in front of him, he could not see his beautiful self. For what he saw made him want to kill himself a thousand times. It was him, alright, but instead of his perfection, he saw a decaying corpse. Lips torn, worms voyaging in and out of his body. His limbs were somewhat torn, only staying attached to his body by some miracle. His eyes were so lifeless, cold. Drenched in blood.

He emitted a loud, frightened scream, grabbing a nearby chair and smashing the mirrors into pieces.

Somewhere away, a little girl smiled.

**After all, it was his fault in every way. **

* * *

**Author Notes:  
**Here you go. So this one, unlike the others, isn't an AU. I was planning to change it to an AU, but then I wouldn't have as much fun writing this. So, I wrote this chapter when I was doing my research for the French Revolution report. The scenario France saw, the one with the guards and the girl, yup, that happened. Of course, I'm not sure if it's exactly what happened, but cruel events did transpire. It was inspired by a a short quote from my research book. I wish I could quote it right now, but I don't have the book with me now. Anyway, I hope you liked how I wrote it. Because even if I got scared from what I wrote, it was fun writing it.

And well... for when he looked into the mirror, I'm not proud of it, I'll be honest for you. I had it written out beautifully and way differently, but I couldn't find it. It's what I get for writing it on a random piece of paper. *sighs* But I hope you liked it either way.

So um... Sorry if it's confusing. Maybe in the future I'll come back to this and rewrite and fix it.

Anyway, HAPPY NEW YEAR! IT'S FINALLY 2011! :3


	5. Fourth Alice Prologue The Void

It was dark. Really dark. And quiet, so that I could hear a pin drop. It really scared me. I opened the door slowly, cringing when I heard it moan. Loudly. When I didn't hear footsteps, I tiptoed into the dark hallway.

"Mattie? Mattie, where are you?" I whispered, looking inside every room I passed. They were all the same though. Dark and empty.

I panicked when I reached the end of the hall and I didn't find Mattie. I thought that he couldn't hear me, that I should speak louder. Even though I was scared to make a louder sound, I decided it was worth it as long as I had my brother.

"M-Mattie? Where a-are you?" I yelled louder as I walked back down the hall. But I was almost to my room and Mattie still didn't answer.

"Mattie..."

**SLAM**

"Alfred! What the HELL are you_ doing_ making all this_ RACKET_?"

My eyes grew wide at the sound of the deep raspy voice. I began to shake in fear. But I told myself I needed to find Mattie quickly. That was more important to me.

"M-Mattie, w-where are you? Al's l-looking f-for you. P-Please c-c-come o-out," I stuttered, the footsteps growing louder. _Closer._

I closed my eyes, praying Mattie would come. That I would find him. But he never came. I opened my eyes in shock at the sharp sting across my face. Tears dripping onto the floor, I quickly looked up to face father. He was super red and puffy.

I knew what was going to happen next.

I shut my eyes just in time. I pretended I was in school with Mattie and my friends playing in the sandbox. The crackling pain when my father smashed my head onto the wall was just an accident, where someone accidentally kicked a ball towards my face. I decided the trickle of liquid coming down from my head was just that it started to sprinkle outside, getting my nice hair wet. And his screaming was just the teacher worriedly and kindly telling us to quickly get inside before we got sick.

Then it stopped. Even without me looking or listening to him, I knew he was cursing, telling me to clean after myself. I felt the tightening vice on my wrists disappear.

I blacked out.

The next time I woke up, I was alone, surprised that I was still alive. I quickly stood up and began to clean my mess, ignoring my own pains.

I guess it still hasn't sunken in, why mom and Mattie were gone. Why I couldn't find them. I got my backpack from my room and went on to school, injuries concealed and a bright grin plastered onto my face.

We promised to stick together. So I knew that Mattie would come back. All I have to do is wait until then.

* * *

**Words from darandomninja:**

Hey y'all! With CASHEE being the easiest test on the planet, I decided to write this. May or may not change, but I'm sure this one will stick. Either way, hope you like it! If the math portion is as easy as this, I might put another chapter tomorrow. Tried to write so that it seems suspenseful. Did I succeed? Please give me your input so I can improve.

So with this one, it's still under the Fourth Alice but it'll be separated into chapters, so that you all will have something to read. I'm planning to make minor changes to the other previous chapters. Might embellish it some more and I probably divide it into several chapters. That way you have a place to stop and you won't be like "WHEN WILL THIS END!" kind of thing.

Need explanations for my stories or this chapter? Go ahead and review and or message me. I know some (more like a lot) of stuff I write doesn't make sense outside my brain.

**By the way, I need help. **If you haven't read my other story Longing, it's a AustriaxEngland fic MOST LIKELY. The pairing? It's because I signed up for this crack fic challenge way way way back. So here's my little contribution to it. I want to continue it, but I don't know what to do. So please go to that story, read the small tid-bit of it, and review or message me ideas. I want to continue, but I have no inspiration for it at all. Please and thank you! :3

Thanks for reading! R&R please and thank you!


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